Wednesday, July 15, 2015

I haven't been writing here as much because I post most of my goings-on on the Powder Necklace Facebook page, but wanted to share some exciting updates with those of you that aren't into the flurry of Facebook notices.

First off, thank you so much for all of your support throughout my journey as a published author. Your recommendations of Powder Necklace, as well as your presence at my readings and talks are fuel. It also keeps the momentum going.

Here's what I've been up to - and what I'm getting up to - this summer.

1. STUDENTS WILL BE READING POWDER NECKLACE AS PART OF THEIR SCHOOL'S COMMON CORE REMIXED CURRICULUM!

2. MY SECOND NOVEL IS DONE & BEING SHOPPED TO PUBLISHERS

After my beloved first agent decided to pursue a new field, it took me almost two years to find a new one. My new agent really helped me tighten the manuscript for my second novel, and I'm excited to report that she is shopping it around to publishers. I can't wait to announce its publishing home!

3. I GOT INTO THE RHODE ISLAND WRITERS COLONY!

Nana Brew-Hammond: 2015 RIWC Writer-in-Residence from The Clever Agency on Vimeo.Over the last two years, I've been focused on applying for writers residencies and fellowships that would offer me financial and/or professional resources to write, or simply unfettered time. So far, I've been shortlisted for Miles Morland Writing Scholarship, wait-listed for the Edward Albee Foundation Residency, and I got into the Rhode Island Writers Colony! For two weeks in June, I joined six other writers in a home in Warren, Rhode Island. We spent our days writing, shared new work in two informal readings, and read our work at a formal public reading at the Coffee Depot cafe. We also got to meet the Pulitzer Prize Winning Poets Tracy K. Smith and Gregory Pardlo. We'll be reuniting for another reading August 1, 2015 4-6pm at Danny Simmons Corridor Gallery in Brooklyn at 334 Grand Avenue. Come through!

4. I WAS THE OPENING SPEAKER AT TEDxACCRA 2015

Professionally and personally, my TEDxAccra goes down as one of the coolest experiences I've had to date. I have watched several TED Talks and been inspired by many of TED Speakers, so even getting the opportunity to speak was huge for me. I prepared fastidiously, and on the day of, it was an out-of-body experience to be on the stage, the monitor reflecting my image with the TED sign behind me. I could see my parents in the audience, my mother's face frozen in a Joker smile of pride, my father listening with squinted-eye intensity. Afterward, people came up to me and engaged me further on my topic. It was an unforgettable day. I'll send the link around once my Talk goes live.

Africa is currently home to six of the world's fastest growing economies, and is projected to account for 40% of the world's youth population by the year 2050. While "Africa Rising" has become the economists' buzz phrase for this immense growth opportunity, Africa 2050 aims to separate the hype from the hard facts, and put flesh and bones on the numbers. Featuring entrepreneurs and investors either based in Africa or with on-the-ground experience, Africa 2050 will offer attendees an inspirational overview of the continent's tech space via interactive discussions with those intimately familiar with the sector's challenges and triumphs.

Lessons Learned: Published Authors Share Hard-Earned InsightsThere is a preponderance of how-to-get-published information online and on the shelves, but what happens after you are published? Writers spend so much energy trying to get their name on a spine, that the lucky few who do frequently find themselves floundering in “now what?” territory. Precisely because it is so hard to get published, many writers in this situation falter in silence either too embarrassed to admit they need help or reticent to share information for fear it could give another writer an advantage.

This panel aims to change this dynamic of isolation, insecurity, and ignorance. Featuring published authors of different backgrounds, in different genres, and at different stages professionally, the discussion will detail hard-earned insights each writer has gained in the course of their careers.

Aspiring and first-time authors will leave the talk with concrete knowledge to help them avoid the pitfalls our panelists fell into. They will also take away practical steps to empower their pre- and post-publication journey. Topics discussed will include: what to look for (and ask for) in a contract; why a strong online presence/social media following isn’t enough when it comes to promoting your book/yourself; free and low-cost strategies to implement with little or no support from your publisher; how to build strategic relationships and partnerships with little or no support from your publisher; evaluating the pros and cons of self-publishing; coping with the day job and other responsibilities now that you’re “famous”; and uderstanding the writers’ power in the publishing ecosystem.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

I'm
in Frankfurt, Germany now awaiting my connecting flight to New York after an
amazing trip celebrating the release of the Africa39 anthology—and a LONG day at Mohammed Murtala International Airport in Lagos,
Nigeria. But more on my day in Lagos later.

I
spent the week in Port Harcourt—designated the 2014 World Book Capital by
UNESCO, a first for a country south of the Sahara—meeting and connecting with
brilliant writers, students, authors, bloggers, radio personalities, publishers, ghost writers, poets, reality show personalities, journalists, booksellers, and more. As a group, the Africa39 authors, and our editor Ellah Wakatama Allfrey, spoke with students at the University of Port
Harcourt, visited the Ken Saro-Wiwa Foundation which is about to commemorate
the 20th anniversary of the activist writer’s execution, spoke on
panels, and shared our work. Audience questions seemed to unite around themes of Western influence on African writing.

From
prizes to publishing, some noted, validation from the European and American
industry seemed to be the ticket to acclaim. What did this mean for writers on
the continent without ready access to an international network of publishers,
editors, and writers—or even information about less publicized prizes? Others
wondered how the African voice is compromised when local languages are
translated to English or French. Still, others questioned what African writing
even is. Who is an African writer? Does a writer born to African parents in
America/Europe/Asia qualify? Does an Asian/European/American writer born and
bred in Africa make the grade?

These
questions bled into our discussions outside the festival setting. On wicker
clusters by the hotel's big blue pool, and in one another’s rooms, over tots of whiskey and vodka, sweaty bottles
of water, and tumblers of wine, there was passionate conversation over the
future of African literature and style inspirations that ranged from Anton Chekhov to
Zora Neale Hurston, John Updike to Jhumpa Lahiri.

Some of us made light of heavily religious upbringings; while others expressed opinions on sex and
relationships between "modern African couples". There was a lot of talk about African
history and politics and culture; why things were/are the way they are.

Then
it was over. Our last night together burned long and slow, like a cigarette, as
one writer deejayed contemporary African hits while the rest of us poured in
and out of the hotel room, imbibing and passing around our anthology copies for last
minute autographs. A muted cable station blared hip-hop and R&B music
videos while we carried on.

The
following evening, I boarded my flight from Port Harcourt. On its refuel stop
in Lagos, I was awakened to the news we had to disembark because there was a
crack in the plane’s windshield.

With
no more information than that, we were herded onto waiting buses, then
dispersed to nearby hotels. I spent this morning awaiting word from the airline
and watching hours of music videos. African and American artists popped bottles
(or bragged that they could). They boasted about how much Rands/Naira/Dollars
they had, their world travels and their cars, and paraded a bevy of half-naked
women.

The
videos got me thinking about a conversation I’d had with two other Africa39 writers and an activist
Nigerian blogger about the detrimental role prosperity preaching plays in
African life. As a Christian, I felt my defenses go up during the exchange, but
I had to admit they were speaking truth.

Not every pastor is out to pimp their
congregations for money, I told them from experience. And what about the esteem
and hope the good news of the gospel provides to a people who need to be
reminded they are the head and not the tail, that God is a lifter of their
heads; a people that need a miracle to change their situation? But I couldn’t
deny that so many of the men and women smiling down from roadside
billboards advertising salvation seemed no different than the politicians on the signboards next to them. On TV, I saw one
politician in conflict with the president being referred to as a messiah by a
collection of clergymen. In Ghana, there are churches (and billboards
advertising them) galore, and puffed up pastors with endless titles, but I
guess experiencing it in another country that looks so much like my own gave me
new perspective.

As
I watched the music videos, I realized the rappers were preaching their own gospel of prosperity. In
Port Harcourt, I went to one club and it looked like the set of a 1990s hip-hop
video from the accent wall décor to the fishbowl placement of the VIP area at
the center of the tight space, to the bottles only service. Prosperity is being
preached in many ways and to some extent, we’re all followers.

On
the second day of the book festival a man named Bishop Kukah spoke about
Africa’s future. In particular, he indicted complacency and
challenged those of us in the room to evolve the world our parents bequeathed. A Ken Saro-Wiwa quote on the walls of his Foundation said
much the same about writers/writing:

“The
writer cannot be a mere storyteller; he cannot be a mere teacher; he cannot
merely x-ray society’s weaknesses, its ills, its perils. He or she must be
actively involved in shaping its present and its future.”

Here’s
the poem, I wrote in the hotel courtyard trying to process all of the above:

Monday, May 12, 2014

Nigerian women marched in Abuja to protest handling of the rescue effort

When I first heard about the kidnapping
of nearly 300 Nigerian girls who were in school to take their finals, I was
taken back to my own boarding school days. Specifically, I remembered "staying
time" when we the Form Five and Sixth Form Girls stayed on campus in the
absence of our other schoolmates to prepare for our G.C.E. 'O' and 'A' Level exams.

Taken by students across West Africa, and graded under the rigorous
supervision of the West African Examinations Council (WAEC), the stakes were/are
incredibly high as far as not only passing these standardized finals, but
"blowing" (or acing) them as we used to say. To pass with mediocre marks was
almost the same as failing because it meant you would not be able to secure
placement in a respectable school for Sixth Form or earn a spot in one of the
then three universities in the country; effectively sealing your caste.

Depending on your results—which were posted publicly—you would
be divided into four groups:

*"Distinction" which meant you had earned all or almost
all “1s” (the equivalent of straight "A"s) on the eight or nine subjects
you had written exams for and earned an aggregate score that was anywhere from
8 to 12. A distinction guaranteed admission to the top schools in the country,
and, depending on how distinct your score, and your circumstance, could mean a
scholarship to a foreign university.

*"Division One", which meant you'd likely gotten a mix of "1"s and "2"s, maybe an errant "3" or "4" but your aggregate had not exceeded 24.

*"Division Two" which meant your aggregate was between 25 and 36.

*"Division Three" which meant you had barely passed, or failed.

If you fell into Division Two or Three, you had to take the exams
over again if you wanted to get a good school placement. (I got a Two
(aggregate 26, thanks to low marks in Physics and Chemistry), but I was not
trying to get into a Sixth Form secondary school as I was leaving for America.)

As a result of the stakes, there was a thriving exams
economy. Woefully underpaid teachers basically charged a semester to a year's
worth of fees for prep classes before these region-wide tests, and after for
those who had passed poorly or failed.

I remember “staying time” as a stressful period, fraught with
all-nighters and desperate attempts at rote memorization. But it was also the
most fun I had as a student in Ghana.

After three years of harassment by certain dormmates and
classmates, and adjustment to Ghanaian life, the half of which I alluded to in Powder
Necklace, I finally had a small but strong crew of girlfriends. When we
weren't studying, we were taking magazine quizzes, talking boys, or braiding
our Afros in anticipation of graduation when we would no longer be compelled by
school rules to keep our hair short. We were also imagining the future.

It was a beautiful time when the guardrails were pushed so we
could venture past some boundaries. Yes, the Lights Out bell rang, but no one
was enforcing it. Neither was anyone making sure we didn't smuggle food from
the dining hall to our dorms, or worrying us about attendance. All we had to do
was study.

It’s been 21 years since I stayed at Mfantsiman, but I imagine
the girls at Government Girls' Secondary School carrying on much like we did. Studying,
allowing themselves guilty pleasure breaks, and imagining the possibilities
that lay ahead. The idea that this moment on the cusp of completion,
accomplishment, and freedom was literally stolen from them, rocked me to my
core.

But in spite of my visceral attachment to the story, I initially
kept quiet about it. When such obvious examples of failure and tragedy are
exposed in Africa, I am generally reticent to share my opinion publicly for
fear of contributing to or affirming a centuries' long narrative of Africa as a
hopeless continent mired in war, disease, and corruption. The mainstream press
has always harped on the negative when it comes to Africa, and been less
enthusiastic and thorough in its coverage of the good stories. To that end,
I've been more prone to highlight the positive.

But when my editor at Ebony.com assigned me to write about the
kidnapping, I had to acknowledge and point out that this kidnapping was
reflective of the ongoing failure of Nigerian leadership, and regional governance
as well. The only way a fringe group could steal 276 girls without being found
immediately is if, pretty much, every eye was off the ball.

Security allocation in this vulnerable part of Nigeria had to
have been woefully inadequate. Rescue efforts had to have been tragically slow
and ineffective. And coordination of information between the school,
government, and military had to have been lacking. As a case in point, more
than three weeks after the girls were brazenly spirited away; Nigeria’s
president was still talking about setting up a committee to find the missing girls—whose
names he was unable to confirm—and waiting
for confirmation about who had actually stolen the girls. There was also
delayed public/international response from ECOWAS, and almost dead silence from
the African Union.

As I followed the Chibok Girls’ story, each update more
horrifying than the last, I kept asking myself: Who is in charge? What is wrong
with African leaders?

As a Ghanaian-American, I feel a vested interest in seeking out
answers—but most who aren't connected to, or interested in, the continent’s
success one way or another do not.

Through research, I’ve learned that many of the current
conflicts on the continent are connected to, or were exacerbated by,
colonialism. In Nigeria, for example, the North and South were brought
together under British colonial rule, despite the fact that the two regions
were made up of very different ethnic and religious groups. Likewise, Sudan and
the newly formed South Sudan had always been a cobbled together confederation
of peoples who had very different ways of living, and had in fact been warring.
If not for colonial
interest in consolidating the area of these disparate groups to control the
area's natural resources, they should never have been one country.

When it comes to corruption, foreign interests have certainly
played a part, but the insidious and rampant nature of corruption in many parts of the continent, at the expense of the majority poor, is homegrown. Yes, international governments have employed neocolonialist tactics to ensnare our emerging economies in disadvantageous deals and ambitious projects that don’t benefit
Africans as much as they could or should (see John Perkins' book Confessions
of an Economic Hitman which details how America in particular targeted
emerging economies in Latin America). Yes, foreign trading partners have contributed to “illicit
financial flows” as the 2014
Africa Progress Report puts it. But inept, shortsighted, and brazenly corrupt leaders have made it
nearly impossible for African economies to recover from the blight of
colonialism and thrive.

I believe the Chibok Girls’ outrageous abduction has served as a
tipping point for many Africans in the Diaspora in terms of public narrative about
the very real problems in Africa and African leadership. There are countless private
listservs and forums which serve as host to virulent debate about what’s
happening back home, but when such conversation leaves the confines of fellow
African nationals there is often embarrassed silence or defensiveness. Chibok has
emboldened many Africans living Abroad to put that embarrassment aside and
raise our voices in collaboration with Africans at home to put pressure on ineffectual
governance.

Some have criticized the movement among Nigerians, Diasporans,
and foreigners to press for US and UN assistance in rescuing the enslaved Chibok
girls, calling it a dangerous perpetuation of historic occupation of Africa by
Western powers. But I see the #BringBackOurGirls campaign as the beginning of a
new paradigm in which We the African People take charge of the narrative about
Africa, even as we work together to change it.

For my part, these stolen
girls—and the boys, and women and men who have been slaughtered, defiled, and
demoralized by the Boko Haram in Nigeria in the name of Allah; and failed by
their government—have changed the way I will write about the land of my
parents' birth. I will be as vigilant about publicly calling out the egregious
and the shameful as I am about highlighting that which swells my chest with
pride. Because merely accentuating the positive will not eliminate the
negative. A balanced narrative has the best chance of doing both.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

In the last year, two of my London cousins had babies. I had been been planning to meet the newest additions to the family so when I learned the Hay Festival and Rainbow Book Club would be unveiling the list of 39 African writers whose works would be included in the upcoming Africa39 anthology at the London Book Fair, I decided to attend. Actually, I agonized over it.

I'm a freelancer so time away means no pay, but the announcement would be a big moment for my career as an author, and I wanted to experience it in person. Moments like this is why I went freelance in the first place. So, I did it, eager to visit my brother in France too.

The morning of the announcement, my cousin (not the one who had a baby) woke up much earlier than he prefers to accompany me to the Fair at Earl's Court Exhibition Centre. I was practically levitating when I got to the PH-UNESCO stand. I spotted Ellah Allfrey, the editor I'd been trading email drafts with for the last few weeks in preparation for the anthology's October release, as well as Chibundu Onuzo and Lola Shoneyin, two writers I've respected from afar.

After short comments by the Director of the Hay Festival, one of the judges, and Ms. Allfrey, I held my breath as they revealed our names -- and ages! Dated to how old we will be by the anthology's October release date. (Listen, I am grateful to be 36--and will be even more so when I hit the Port Harcourt World Book Fair at 37--but I'm good with a little mystery. Anyhoo, it's out there. 37 is the new...37.)

After the announcement, Chibundu, Lola, and I gave quick interviews and my cousin patiently took our photos from every angle, multiple times.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

It's been an exhausting, eventful, educational, productive, AMAZING year. I'm looking forward to more of the same in 2014. Thank you so much for your encouragement and support. God bless your new year and beyond!!

Saturday, November 23, 2013

The next time I hear a celeb has passed out "due to exhaustion," I won't be so quick to cock a skeptical eyebrow.

The past few months have been incredibly busy for me. Meeting copywriting and article deadlines into the night (and morning) during the weeks, zipping to different cities and states on the weekends shilling the book, and emailing countless pitches in between. Add appearances, fellowship and residency applications, and research for book number 3.

Last week, my body exacted payment for all this work.

Very dramatically, I collapsed. Blacked out and bumped my head. When I came to, like a movie, faces hovered over mine asking if I was okay.

I was rushed to the ER, strapped to an orange chair with wheels, rolled into the ambulance van, and given a battery of tests. The $5,000 prognosis? I was tired. Oh, and I need to drink more water.

I've spent the past few days doing major reassessment. I've always prided myself on "doing the work," and I've always believed the "I worked to get where I am" narrative. But I've come to realize that working yourself into the ground does not lead to success.

Work implies control. But the truth is, success is a confluence of so many factors, besides the work you put, in that are completely outside your control.

It's been tough for me to accept this. But I have to. I have bumped against this lesson my whole life, and particularly in the last year and a half as I've driven myself at dizzying speeds to get where I want to go faster. ("Faster," twin to "impatience," is my problem.) It's time to learn this lesson once and for all.